Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(51)

“If I do, we may never make it back to the party.”

“Ahhh, I’ve been found out.” I reached along the wall and flicked on the light switch.

As we entered the large garage, Hannah jolted to a stop a couple of steps in, and for a moment, I thought she took my comment of “watch your step” too seriously.

“Your dad has a serious toy collection.”

I nodded. “Everybody needs a hobby; this is Dad’s.”

I grabbed her hand and led her down the center of the garage. Along both sides stretched a row of vehicles. In a perfect line, they were backed toward the walls, their chrome grills facing forward toward the center aisle. Each line held ten vehicles, reminding me of purebred horses in the stalls of their barn.

“It feels comfortable in here.” She looked down, appreciating the polished concrete floor.

“The same heated water pipes run through this floor too,” I explained.

“Amazing,” she uttered under her breath.

“What part?” I asked.

“All of it, the planning, the way they thought of every little thing for their comfort and to protect the things they love. The plants in the greenhouse, these beautiful cars, and all the effort they went through to look after them gives me a stronger understanding of why you are the way you are.”

“What? You mean my over-analysis, my OCD, my…”

Hannah interrupted my list with a gentle finger on my lips. “You mean your diligence in thinking through all possibilities, always protecting those you care about, forever looking after everything and everyone, even at the cost to yourself at times? Yes, the way you are. That is what I mean.”

Uncomfortable with her comments, I changed the topic. “Which is your favorite?”

“My favorite what? Character trait about you?” Her brow furrowed.

I snorted. “Favorite car, Maestro.” My matter-of-fact tone mocked her misunderstanding.

She shook her head on an eye-roll. Then she turned and walked down the centerline and was drawn straight toward a dark green convertible. I kept quiet, but followed until I stood beside her.

After admiring the front, walking along the driver’s side, and looking into the passenger compartment upholstered in tan leather, she spoke, her voice low. “Breathtaking lines.”

“And the car’s beautiful too...” I struggled to tear my gaze away from Hannah’s breathtaking lines, my thoughts racing toward curves hidden by petticoats.

Oblivious to my guttered thoughts, she glanced at me with an innocent smile, then rounded the rear and walked along the passenger side before standing next to me again. “Okay, I see it says Jaguar. What model is it?”

“She’s a 1959 Jaguar XK150S.”

“That’s it, tour guide?” she asked with a smartass tone.

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything. I think I’m in love,” she whispered.

Chuckling, I glanced at the car. “She started life in England of course, then came to the States and was sold to a gentleman bootlegger in the South. He was the sole owner until my parents stumbled across her.”

“A bootlegger? You’re kidding.”

“Nope. She has quite the sordid history of running high-quality, homemade moonshine. Gives her a pretty cool and sultry provenance, I think.

“I like it. She’s beautiful with a tough background.” Hannah nodded.

“She had a complete frame-off restoration, made better with all stainless steel connectors and screws, and many other details only Dad could list from memory. Both my parents fell in love with her and thought she deserved to be brought back with an amazing restoration.”

“Amazing is right. I can’t take my eyes off her.”

“Her name is Moon. My parents name their cars, like your Granpop with Josephine. A habit they started years ago. The name is in respect for her surviving through her moonshine-running life.”

“Love the name.” She tilted her head. “Hello Moon, very happy to meet you.”

I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Ready to continue?”

“Lead on, tour guide.”

I led her back to the center aisle, and we walked toward the rear wall of the garage.

She glanced up, her lips curving into a smile. “Does your dad work on all these himself?”

“He plays with them when he has a rare moment but has a trusted mechanic to keep them healthy and in shape. As you’ve probably noticed, Dad’s a bit of a neat freak, but in a good way. He considers each one of these vehicles a work of art and created this protective space for them.”

As we approached the lounge area at the back of the garage, Hannah stopped, tugging me to a halt. “Okay, this is seriously cool too.”

I released her hand and dropped down into my favorite black leather chair.

She took in the inviting man-cave space, her gaze starting on the oversized leather chairs in the corner where I sat, drifting to the large plasma TV suspended on the wall, then sweeping across the three chrome barstools lined up along a small bar as she stepped onto the black rug. “Safe to assume no oil or grease is allowed in this area?”

I snorted. “Hell, no. Part of that neat-freak thing. This is where he relaxes with friends or clients that come to hang out in the garage to talk car stuff or solve the world’s problems…”